A long time ago, in the land of Southern Rhodesia (currently Zimbabwe), there lived a man named Kasukuwira (just a fictional name) who was well endowed in trade skills. Kasukuwira was a dealer in salt. He owned a sizeable number of donkeys that aided him in his business. Kasukuwira would use the donkeys to carry salt for sale to several markets. One day he packed bags of salt onto a donkey. On the way, while crossing the bridge on River Limpopo, the donkey fell into the river and when it came out barely any salt had been left in the bags.
Upon reaching home, Kasukuwira eavesdropped the conversation of his donkeys. The donkey which fell into the river told the other donkeys that if they fall into the water, the load gets lighter.
Next day, Kasukuwira selected a donkey, loaded it up and began his journey. On the way, the donkey didn’t move forward until Kasukuwira let it fall into the water. When it got out, something was weird. The load had become heavier instead of getting lighter. The clever Kasukuwira had loaded sponge on this day.
Indolence weighs heavily on a writer
Slothfulness is one of the significant bugs that, at one point, eat all of us. And this condition, particularly in reading and writing, has not spared me. Tagging along laziness is procrastination. These two work in cahoots to cage progressiveness.
There are days I start to write and then suddenly stops on the way, only to resume one week after. There are times I tell myself I am going to write and end up writing nothing. There are times I urge myself to read, and it never comes to pass.
I postpone it every day, pushing it to another day. I have been battling this, and my Tomahawk Cruise Missiles have so far fared well. You have to fight it too.
“The path of least resistance makes all rivers, and some men, crooked.”